Scaryduck writes, "I celebrated my last day on my paper round by giving everybody next door's paper, and the house at the end 16 copies of the Maidenhead Advertiser. And I kept the delivery bag. That certainly showed 'em."

What have you flounced out of? Did it have the impact you intended? What made you quit in the first place?

Shameless pearoast
If only because I have nothing else to say, and a post below has reminded me of this, which fits nicely. Not work related, but fuck it.

I remember it well – I was in my late teens, and the relationship started, as many do, when I was drunk. She looked so alluring – long, slender, and blonde. How could I resist? The truth was I couldn’t. I was recently out of a serious relationship, and was feeling a bit battered and bruised by the experience. When she pressed herself to my lips, the experience was dizzying, electrifying… it took my breath away.

This was a new experience, and one that I quite liked. It made me feel liberated, somehow; carefree. More importantly, it took my mind off things, and I was grateful to her for that.

It was not to last. Whether it was because my head was somewhere else, I don’t know, but I awoke one afternoon to find that I wasn’t thinking about her anymore, and took it to be a sign that it was time to move on. For the next 13 or so years, I forgot all about my short but tender experience. That is, until my marriage crumbled around me, and I became a pale, nervous shadow of my former self. For two months I could barely face anyone, until one day resolve took hold of me, gave me a much needed slap and forced me to have a good look at myself. I straightened myself out, and took a friend up on his offer of “anytime you fancy a pint, just ring”.

So at 5:30pm, on a Tuesday evening, I did just that. Conceding the point that 5:30 on a Tuesday was a bit early, we met some 3 hours later, and drank and talked and laughed. I felt relieved at facing the world again, and found myself enjoying the company, but the return to an empty house served only to plunge me back into a pit of misery. The next day she walked mysteriously back into my life. Only this time, she was no longer blonde, but a kind of light brown with highlights. It suited her.

We took up exactly where we left off – not a word was spoken between us. There didn’t have to be, and for a few months I took comfort in her. Then, as suddenly as before, she was gone, and I thought no more of it. But then, I did have other things to consider, such as setting up temporarily in a flat of my own, whilst also looking for somewhere to buy. And so another year or so passed without a thought of my slender companion, until one night she was thrust upon me once more. This time it was different though, as we only saw each other at weekends – I was going to savour her companionship, give myself something to look forward to. It was OK, for a while, but I found myself missing her, and would sneak her into my house midweek, then one more day, and another… My friends grew concerned. Soon, she was even following me to work, where we’d sneak off to a small room a couple of times a day (she had reverted to being blonde by this point). The small room was available to us for about a year, until we were forced out by some Health and Safety nonsense, and we found ourselves taking refuge outside, at the end of the building.

My friends continued to warn me about her, but I didn’t listen. You don’t in these circumstances, do you? I was blind to what was happening to me, often found myself scraping a fiver together so I could see her again. When I look back now, that was pretty desperate. However, only a few days ago, it hit me, out of the blue – she was fleecing me of about £120 a month. It would go missing from my bank account, just small amounts at a time, so I wouldn’t notice until suddenly I was into the overdraft. And I realised that she wasn’t good for me. The strain of her company was starting to get to me, and I was having difficulty in sleeping. My mouth became dry, and I couldn’t taste things in the same way. And I realised that she had become a habit, devoid of any enjoyment. The bitter taste I had felt after her last kiss told me that it was time to walk away.

So, on Monday night, I pressed her to my lips one last time. “This isn’t working”, I whispered to her, my breath catching on the cold night air as I did so. With that, the last dying flame of our passion went out, and as I turned on my heel and closed the door, we said goodbye forever…

I've since reverted to my previous ways, but not for long. Honest

(Davros' Granddada voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 29 May 2008, 1:57,
closed)